Single Mother of a Werewolf Baby

Chapter 175: Inside the Underground Laboratory

In the cabin, Nora sat cross-legged on the bed, motionless, as if meditating. She had remained in that position since entering the cabin hours ago, without the slightest movement. She wore a black tracksuit, the hood pulled low to cast her face in shadow. Only her pale chin and thin lips were visible beneath the fold of fabric.

Upon hearing Robert’s knock and voice, she finally moved. She slid off the bed and adjusted her posture. Even in the island’s humid, sweltering air, she wore gloves and made no attempt to remove them. A pair of black running shoes covered her feet, silent with each step.

She opened the cabin door and descended the stairwell without a word. Robert followed closely behind, never daring to guide her... as he felt that she needed no directions.

As they reached the tunnel entrance, Robert finally spoke.

"Edward, this is Miss Nora. From now on, she has the final say here. Don’t waste time with pleasantries... she only cares about the work."

Edward gave a slight bow. "Understood. Welcome, Miss Nora."

Nora said nothing. She gave a small nod, which was barely perceptible.

All Edward could see was her unnaturally white chin and lips. The rest of her body was concealed... no skin exposed, not even her hands.

Robert looked around. "Seems the empty boxes were cleared already. I’ll take my leave then. Edward, see you next time."

With that, he turned and left the tunnel.

Outside, four of his subordinates were already waiting. Robert gave a single nod, and they immediately pushed the massive boulder back into place, sealing the tunnel entrance.

They gathered the remaining boxes and carried them back to the ship.

Shortly after, the deck rumbled with the vibration of the engines. The ship pulled away from the dock in silence and slowly vanished into the dark horizon.

Even after the ship had fully disappeared from sight, Ghay Moo waited another ten minutes before issuing the next command.

He turned on his radio. "Soldiers. Move to the dock."

Quietly, he and his men emerged from the jungle shadows and made their way to the now-empty dock. There, twenty large boxes waited for them.

and began opening the

Three held ammunition. One was filled with grenades. The rest contained dried

team counted and logged every item

a gentle stroke... like a painter brushing gold across a sleeping canvas. Over the quiet island, shadows retreated, giving way to shimmering hues...

secret held close. Along the sandy crescent of shoreline, gleaming specks emerged where moonlight once lingered... now replaced by a delicate

tidal shallows, the water turned to glass, mirroring the sky’s gentle blush... rose gold, powdered peach, and the faintest blue of waking clarity. The air shimmered, laced with the scent of salt and blooming champaca, while the

longingly across the island. For a fleeting moment, it felt untouched by time...

radio and began reporting the contents of the delivery

***

deep within the dense and humid jungles of eastern Myanmar, where rivers cut through hills like silent knives, and mist lingers long after dawn, his

lost ground, pushed back in several regions.

not an army of conquest, but a force rooted in the soil it bled for. Its fighters were born under the weight of a promise: that the Karen people

on mountain ridges, buried under forest canopies, tucked in ravines where no road could reach, the KNLA fights a war of survival and resistance. On official maps, their bases barely exist. But on the ground, they are lifelines: dugouts, bunkers, jungle tents, training fields, and watchposts. All guarded by men and women who have lived their entire lives

attack helicopters, and decades of brutal suppression. The KNLA knows the scent of ash from

No anti-aircraft guns. No

inherited pain. KNLA fighters move like ghosts through the green, laying ambushes, disabling bridges, vanishing before counterstrikes land. Some bases hold around fifty fighters. Others far fewer. But across

rise along the ridgelines, manned in silence, scanning the skies for any flash of movement. Their lines of communication are fragile but still active. Radio chatter connects them to allied units: the

living in the forest, moving camp to camp, bringing food, medicine, and information. They are the hidden veins through which

and all other peoples of the hills and plains can speak their own languages, keep their ancestral lands, and never again be forced to bow at gunpoint before a central army. The vision has evolved: from secession

alone cannot win wars. That’s why this new batch of weapons felt like a

***

hidden deep within the mountain,

with quiet urgency. Scientists moved between terminals, checking screens, adjusting equipment, working in silence or murmuring beneath

hooded tracksuit concealing every inch of her body. Gloves covered her hands. Her

she paused to inspect a monitor. At other times, she simply observed the scientists at work. Her gaze lingered... intense but silent.

completing her sweep of the laboratory floor, she entered the server room. Here, she moved slowly, meticulously,

her circuit,

must be downstairs. Please lead the

soft. Soothing. It drifted across the room like mist